Panic in the Morgue
by Zephyr169
Summary: What would happen if Sherlock took a little bit too much in the episode with the crazy doctor? Here's a little one shot for those of you who enjoy a little bit of angst :D rated T for some cursing.


My hands were shaking, I couldn't stop them. Damnit I went too far. I knew I was dying I knew it but this was more important at the moment. Focus Sherlock focus. I leaned heavily against the counter and curled in on myself. My brow furrowed tighter. Don't make noise. Don't distract John, you're fine. You're fine just a little longer.  
"Sherlock?"  
I uncurled and stood straight leaning in the counter for support but hopefully not making it obvious.  
"Yes John."  
His own brow furrowed and his frown deepened. Great it seems I missed part of a conversation I should have listened to. He took a step forward and I clenched my hands tighter. Before shoving them into my pockets completely.  
"Are you alright?"  
I let out a breath of laughter. Am I alright? Haha, what a joke. Did he even see me? Any doctor could tell I was definitely not alright. But don't distract John he needs to see this.  
"Fine, I apologize. I've miscalculated, I didn't account for the traffic."  
The three steps one belonging to the cane approached the door and in came Smith's daughter. But it wasn't her. No no no, this wasn't right.  
"Who the hell are you?"  
No no no, this, this is wrong, no.  
"Sherlock?"  
Why did this happen? What went wrong? Why is she not the same? She was at my flat but this wasn't her! What the hell?  
"Sherlock?!"  
My heartbeat was too fast, breathing is uneven. I need to reassess the situation. I need to figure this out. I need to show John I've still got it, I need to save him. Mary said to save him. I have to do this.  
"Sherlock!?"  
Hands on my shoulders yanked me from my inner ramblings and I looked up into John's eyes. Wait, I was taller, why was he above me? I felt the cold from the floor seeping into my legs and the sharp corner of one of the metal doors for the dead digging into my back. When did I get here?  
"Sherlock? You with me?"  
No, no I need to fix this. Mary told me to. I have to for her.  
"Sherlock?!"  
I couldn't breath. Everything has gone so wrong, so, so wrong. Why did it go wrong? Where?  
"Sherlock! Calm down, you need to breath!"  
I couldn't. John come on surely you can see I'm trying. I can't, it won't work, it's all wrong. Everything's so wrong.  
"Damnit. Help me get him up."  
I could see movement from the corner of my eye and saw the murderer come closer. No! No he can't do this! John can't be near him no! This wasn't the plan! This wasn't the plan!  
"Jesus, Sherlock!"  
I felt his hands on my throat and tried not to flinch. It was too similar, it was too much like the dreams. I knew he could never forgive me. I killed his wife and we both knew it. So isn't this better? Maybe I didn't need to save him? Maybe Mary was wrong. He seemed to be doing fine, better than he was when following me around anyway. He has a kid, I can't be there, I can't ruin this anymore than I already have. So if I left, it would be fine, right? He lost me once for two years in fact, and he got Mary. This time I won't be around to make him lose any more.  
"Sherlock!"  
No, no it's okay John, it's better this way. I was burning out. I didn't have a purpose anymore and you don't need me around, I've only caused you pain. It's better this way. It should have been me before anyway. Not Mary, never, never Mary. My life isn't my own but there's no one here to really miss it. Mycroft won't care, less of a mess to clean up; Mrs. Hudson might miss me for a bit until she gets a new tenant, maybe one who doesn't shoot the wall or stab the mantle; Molly wouldn't need to worry about keeping cadavers for me to experiment with; Lestrade would learn to solve the cases himself and not rely on me; John, John no longer cares, I took his wife from him. It's better this way. The pain in my chest faded to a dull throb and the world went dark.

John's POV

"Damnit, Sherlock!"  
He went limp and still wasn't breathing. He'd passed out now and who knew how much stuff he'd taken to get in this state. The mumbling was what bothered me. As if he was justifying the fact he was dying. As if no one would really miss him. Damnit, of course he'd pull something like this. How could I not see it? But this time he went too far. With the help of some nurses we set him up in one of the rooms in the hospital. It was official. He had lost it and I wasn't there to stop him. I sighed and laid my cane against the chair. If he woke up again he would probably need it, and it was a way to say goodbye. He showed me I didn't need the old thing when we first met, and now I could give it away. He needs help, but not mine. I left the room and walked out of the building.

* * *

 **Well there it is, my little angsty one shot of what could have happened if Sherlock had a little too much of the 'good stuff' as well as a breakdown. let me know what you think!**


End file.
